Chapter 6 : Scar For Scar

The warehouse reeked of rust and gasoline.

It was always like this—the scent of blood disguised as something more industrial. Soren had stopped distinguishing the difference. Pain didn’t smell like copper anymore. It smelled like home.

He was on his knees. Again.

This time, though, Caelum was behind him. Hands tied. Gag in place. His shirt torn and dirt streaked across his face, but his eyes—those sharp, untouchable eyes—were wide with disbelief. Not fear. Not pain.

Just realization.

Soren had taken the brunt of it.

Again.

Because he had told him:

“If Lael finds out, you’ll be the one punished. And no matter what he feels for me… you’ll always be the one he protects.”

So Soren had made a choice.

He stood between Caelum and the Keres enforcers, never screaming even when they used the knives.

Even when they spoke of him like property.

“He bleeds well,” one said, licking the blade. “No wonder Lael’s so obsessed. But if he sees him broken, maybe he’ll finally come running.”

“Don’t call him that,” Caelum snapped behind the gag, voice muffled, almost broken.

But Soren didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. He just looked back at Caelum and shook his head, slowly.

A signal.

Stay quiet. Stay out of it.

Because Lael would come. And when he did, he had to see nothing. No reason to doubt. No reason to question loyalty.

This wasn’t about saving himself anymore. It was about preserving what little peace still lived inside Lael’s broken sense of love.

The doors slammed open an hour later.

Gunshots. Screams.

And then silence.

Lael stood in the center of the wreckage, blood on his sleeves, eyes wild and unblinking. He saw Caelum first—alive, untouched, protected. Relief washed over his face.

Then he saw Soren.

Blood pooled beneath him. His arms were limp, lips split, eyes unfocused but open. Still awake. Still conscious. Still kneeling.

“Soren.” Lael’s voice cracked.

But Soren didn’t move.

Didn’t cry. Didn’t ask for help. He just said one thing, voice dry and hoarse:

“He’s not hurt. That’s all that matters.”

Lael’s footsteps echoed as he approached, fast and uneven. “Why the hell would you protect him?!”

Soren looked up, a faint, almost delusional smile forming on his lips.

“Because you wouldn’t survive if something happened to him.”

That was when Lael snapped.

“Damn it, Soren!” he shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders. “I told you—you don’t get to decide what matters more to me!”

Soren’s body sagged against him. “You said a lot of things.”

Lael froze.

Soren’s breath was shallow. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me. You said I was safe. You said I was free.”

And then he closed his eyes.

Later That Night...

The silence in the mansion was suffocating.

Lael sat at the edge of the bed, head in his hands, as the medic cleaned the final wound across Soren’s ribs before leaving.

The contract lay folded on the nightstand.

Still signed. Still binding.

But something had shifted.

Soren stirred. His voice came out soft.

“Did you come here to yell at me again?”

Lael looked up sharply.

“No,” he said. “I came to ask why.”

Soren looked toward the ceiling. “Because I’ve survived worse. And because I don’t want you to lose anything else.”

“You think I care more about him than you?”

“I don’t think,” Soren whispered. “I know.”

Lael stood. “You’re wrong.”

“Then why did you scream at me when he was safe and I was the one bleeding?”

Lael didn’t respond.

But the silence was answer enough.

Soren smiled bitterly. “I’ve already done the consequence.”

Lael frowned. “What?"

Soren pulled the sheets down just enough to show a set of fresh, self-inflicted wounds over older ones—neatly arranged. Familiar.

“You always said I needed to be punished when I crossed boundaries,” Soren murmured. “I don't know what you want so I made sure at least something was done before you got home.”

Lael staggered backward, as if slapped.

“I didn’t mean it like this,” he whispered.

“I know,” Soren said softly. “But I didn’t want to risk you meaning it enough.”

And that was the worst part.

He wasn’t accusing. He was explaining.

Lael turned away, hands trembling.

Caelum stood at the door, unseen until now. He looked at Soren, then at Lael.

“Still think you’re the victim here?” he asked Lael quietly.

Lael didn’t respond.

But Soren did.

“Don’t fight. Please. Not in front of me.”

The silence that followed Soren’s words wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy — suffocating. Like the moment before a storm breaks everything apart.

Lael’s jaw tensed. Caelum stopped mid-sentence.

Soren was standing unsteadily in the hallway, blood seeping through the fabric around his side. His hand gripped the wall for balance, the other holding onto what little dignity he had left.

“Please,” he whispered again, eyes dull. “Not in front of me.”

Lael exhaled slowly. The anger in him simmered beneath the surface, but he looked at Soren’s face — pale, drawn, and covered in the shadow of fresh bruises — and forced himself to back down.

“We’ll talk later,” he muttered tightly, shooting one last glare at Caelum before turning and heading down the hall.

Caelum lingered, concern flickering across his face. He opened his mouth to say something to Soren, but Soren gave the slightest shake of his head.

It was a silent plea: don’t.

So Caelum followed Lael.

When the door to the master bedroom closed behind them, Soren finally let out the breath he’d been holding. He sank slowly to the floor, back pressed to the cold wall, eyes fluttering shut.

His entire body throbbed — inside and out.

Not just from the wounds.

From the truth.

Lael didn’t trust him. Caelum pitied him. And Soren... didn’t even know who he was anymore.

He woke up sometime later on the couch, bandaged again, clean clothes clumsily thrown over him. Someone had tried — poorly — to take care of him.

It wasn’t Lael. He was too precise for that.

Must’ve been Caelum.

He sat up, groaning softly, every muscle aching. He wanted to disappear into the shadows of the house, but before he could even stand, a quiet voice reached him.

“I’m sorry.”

Caelum.

Standing by the hallway entrance, arms crossed over his chest, guilt carved into the slump of his shoulders.

Soren didn’t respond.

“I didn’t know they would make moves this fast,” Caelum continued. “They came out of nowhere, dragged me with you. And... and then I saw what they did to you.”

Soren’s eyes flickered. “You weren’t supposed to.”

“But I did,” Caelum whispered, stepping closer. “And you still shielded me. Even after everything I did to you.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

Caelum froze.

“I did it for him,” Soren said, looking at nothing. “Because if they’d hurt you, he would’ve burned the whole city down. And I didn’t want to be the reason for that. So I stepped out for them to change their target."

Caelum’s voice trembled. “And what about you? What about what you want?"

Soren looked up, finally meeting his eyes.

“I want him to be happy.”

The silence returned, quieter now. Sadder.

Caelum crouched beside the couch, biting his lip. “Why didn’t you tell him what happened?”

Soren laughed bitterly. “Because he wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” Soren looked away. “He’s the one who asked for a contract. He’s the one who said I wasn’t allowed to interfere. He’s the one who made it clear... I’m temporary. And he wouldn't care about me unless you told him to."

Caelum stared at him, heart twisting. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded note.

“I was going to give this to him,” he said, voice low. “But maybe you should read it first.”

He handed it over.

Soren took it hesitantly and unfolded the paper.

It was a letter. Short. Slanted handwriting.

Lael, I’m leaving. Don’t look for me. You told me once that love was loyalty. That it wasn’t supposed to hurt. But if you still can’t see who’s bleeding for you, then maybe you never really understood what love was at all.

Caelum

Soren blinked.

Caelum stood. “I’m not staying. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. But you’re not. And neither is he. And maybe both of you need to figure out why.”

He left before Soren could say anything else.

A few hours later, the house was quiet again. Too quiet.

Until Lael stepped into the room.

Soren tensed automatically, but didn’t move from the couch. Lael didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, watching him.

Finally, he said, “He left.”

“I know.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

Soren folded the note in his hand without looking at him. “Nothing that matters.”

Lael stepped closer, slowly, like he was approaching something fragile — or dangerous. “You should’ve told me what happened."

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

“I might have.”

“You didn’t believe me,” Soren said, voice sharp now. “Every time I tried, you looked at me like I was a threat. Or a mistake."